


Natural Born Killer

by astronofille



Series: Ascension - DnD [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Drabble, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Gen, Goth Elf Rights, Heavy Angst, elven life span, gave my elf an existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronofille/pseuds/astronofille
Summary: As an elf, it would be centuries yet before his body would begin to weaken from the years spent wandering the oerth. Centuries spent keeping this body alive, eating, drinking, meditating, taking jobs to afford food and drink and places to meditate, for centuries more.Is this all there is?
Series: Ascension - DnD [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636807
Kudos: 2





	Natural Born Killer

_Is this all there is?_

It was not the first time Candide— _Drifter_ , _he was Drifter, not Candide, he had never truly been Candide, couldn’t hide behind that mask here_ —had thought about the long future in front of him. After decades spent making his living through mindless killing, of course it had occurred to him before to consider the years still stretching out before him. 

As an elf, it would be centuries yet before his body would begin to weaken from the years spent wandering the oerth. Centuries spent keeping this body alive, eating, drinking, meditating, taking jobs to afford food and drink and places to meditate, for centuries more. 

_Is this all there is?_

Footsteps echoed outside the room, and C— _Drifter_ snapped back to attention, hyper-aware of his surroundings. His body hadn’t moved a millimeter, completely still despite his long wait from decades of practice. 

He’d taken another job, for some godforsaken reason. No, that was unfair. He knew exactly why he’d taken this job. Holly had asked if he minded taking on a quick mission while the group was in the area. It should be an easy target, she’d said, a local politician who’d angered a few wealthy parties, who lived on his own, who had not even one guard to his name. A simple kill. It was all Drifter was good for, all he had trained his body to do in his already too long life. 

Silently, he waited as his target approached the door leading to the study in which he waited. The politician paused for a moment, muttering a counter-incantation to unlock the door and undo his protective wards. Drifter scoffed inside his head; the target could’ve put all the wards in the world on his door, and it wouldn’t have kept him from slipping in through his window. Stupid and naive, relying on the penthouse apartment’s height to keep out intruders. _Not everyone runs constant threat assessments and sees danger in every shadow._ Drifter shut down the unhelpful thought. 

The target finally entered the room, closing the door behind him and letting out an exhausted sigh. With a turn of the lock, he reactivated the door’s magical defenses. Drifter watched from the shadows of the room’s towering bookcases as his target took a step towards the desk, reaching for the chain of a lamp. Before he could illuminate the room, Drifter made his move. 

One leap forwards, and he had his garrote around the target’s neck, unrelentingly cutting off his air supply. Gasping, the target threw his arms up, clawing at Drifter’s hands and forearms. His nails scrabbled uselessly against Drifter’s leather armor and gloves. Out of habit, Drifter counted the seconds silently in his head until the target in his arms went limp, unconscious. Still operating off of long-engrained muscle memory, Drifter shifted his arms slightly to grip the target’s body by his head. 

One firm twist. He snapped his neck. Drifter felt an unusual pang in his chest. 

_Is this all there is?_

Drifter physically shook the thought free. This was no time for idle contemplation. He had a job to finish. 

Carefully, Drifter laid the target on the hard floor of the study. Reaching into the bag on his shoulders, he took out a short length of rope, already tied into an intentionally sloppy noose. Drifter took the target’s hands, pressed them to the rope and gave his fingers a few minor rope burns, and then secured the noose around his neck. He threw the loose end of the rope around one of the room’s thick ceiling beams and slowly pulled the target off the ground. His arms were burning from exertion by the time Drifter secured the rope— _it would’ve been no effort at all for Aly, if she had been there, but she would never be there, not for this, and Drifter wouldn’t want her to be_ —but eventually he finished the task and watched the target’s body sway slightly from where he hung. 

A few minor touches, tossing a chair to the ground beside the body as if kicked away, cleaning the few bits of black leather caught under the target’s fingernails, and his job was finished. It might not fool a particularly thorough investigation, but to an uncaring police force, the incident would be considered an open-and-shut case of suicide. Drifter took one final moment to survey the room and check for any missed traces of his presence before approaching the window. 

He peered carefully outside, but saw no signs of life in the alley below or the building across it, darkness in every window. It was short work to rappel down the gutter pipe bolted conveniently just beside the window, which he closed gently behind him. 

His instincts kept him silent and composed as he exited the alley and started making his way through the surrounding maze of streets, walking slow enough to appear aimless but quick enough to avoid attention. Once he was several, safe blocks away from the crime scene, Drifter pulled himself into an alley. 

For the first time ever after a successful mission, his stomach was roiling. He put a hand up to cover his mouth and was surprised to find it trembling slightly. 

_Is this all there is?_

For years, decades, he’d killed without a further thought. It was a paycheck. A way to put food in his uncaring stomach. He was the best at his job, the best in the guild. He’d always figured that he would stay the best until he wasn’t any more, and then he would die and that would be the end of it. No hard feelings, just the way of the world. 

Unbidden, his mind turned to the group members he’d temporarily left behind to take this job. Vya, and Rowan, and all the rest. Had his target, the man he’d killed tonight with barely a thought, had he had people like them in his life? People he’d cared about, who had cared about him in return? _Since when did he care?_

Bile rose in his throat. No matter; Drifter choked it back down. 

With effort, Drifter forced his hands to still their tremors. He swallowed roughly, then again, clearing his throat of any remnants of bitterness. 

Peeling himself off the wall of the alley where he lurked, Drifter stepped back into the dim light of the streetlamps and started the long journey back to his companions. He forced his mind onto safer paths, taking a mental inventory of all the weapons hidden in his garments, and the quickest way to dispatch someone using each one of them, willing his mind to still with the repetition. Despite his best efforts, he could feel the thoughts in the back of his mind reeling without pause. 

_Is this all there is?_

_If I live for another 500 years, is this all there is?_

_When Vya, and Rowan, and Newt, and Damakos, and Aly all die, and I’m left alone, is this all there is?_

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, think of any answers. 

Fingers twitching restlessly in his pockets, brow uncharacteristically furrowed, Candide let his feet carry him home. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! i have Feelings about elves, especially my favorite goth elf.
> 
> title is from the song "natural born killer" by josh meloy, though the avenged sevenfold song by the same title is pretty good for candide as well, lol.


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